


Con tact

by DancerInTheMoonlight



Series: And They Lived [6]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dogs, Domestic, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25318429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancerInTheMoonlight/pseuds/DancerInTheMoonlight
Summary: Parenting teenagers sometimes feels like Sisyphus' work.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Sebastian Smythe
Series: And They Lived [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954504
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Con tact

The house was pleasantly quiet. Ever since the pandemic ‘threatened national security’, or more accurately, since it dragged all modern-day society’s unsightly faults and neglects out into the full-on, direct spotlight, where they couldn’t be unseen even by the most amblyopic of eyes, everything seemed to slow down a bit. The lingering quarantine had Blaine preparing an online class for his musical theatre students and wondering what implications of a contact-less future meant for an art form which was basically contact in itself. There was nothing quite like live performance in front of a substantial audience. Nothing quite like physically and, Blaine dared to imagine, psychically, interacting with partners on stage. Nothing quite like the emotional exchange which followed that contact, if the contact was there, even more so if the contact was any good.

Lack of contact was an acceptable, and even though Blaine could only marginally fathom why, frequently even a _desirable_ feat of modern life; a preference, an advantage, so to speak, but only when you had an actual choice to abstain from it. Faced with no choice at all, human contact suddenly seemed a need more dire than ever. Curious, that. Maybe it’s just what both modern-day theatre and modern-day humanity needed. Too bad people were busy doing things like throwing those parties Sebastian kept obsessively reading (and raging) about to see who could get sick first. Blaine just sighed and held him close.

The quiet was disrupted when Ally bounded down the stairs with her backpack, wrapped tightly in her trench-coat, one of Sebastian’s caps covering all of her hair, which she had tucked neatly underneath. Garbo wagged her tail but otherwise remained unmoving where she lay underneath the table at Blaine’s feet.

“I’m off!” the girl aimed in his direction and quickly turned for the door.

“Off to where?” Blaine asked, because no sixteen (nearly seventeen, Al would have protested) year old should be just off somewhere with no acknowledgement of the phenomenon from their parents, or, in Blaine's case, parent-figures. Even though that level of freedom had been tempting back when they were teenagers, Blaine knew it always came with a high price of emotional neglect. Sebastian knew it even more, as he used to exert that freedom most senselessly and irresponsibly, back in the day. Blaine had never been as careless but he had been oh-so-easily led. He looked up at her from his monitor expectantly.

“My friend Jeannie’s, I told you that,” she replied.

“Have you?” Blaine questioned absent-mindedly as his attention was briefly snatched by a freshly arrived e-mail.

“ _Yes_. Now I have to go, love you, bye!” she uttered making her way across the wide, open living-room area where Blaine had been sitting at their dining table for six, easily expandable into eight. They usually expanded it for Sebastian’s case files (when faced with particularly complicated cases, which he hardly ever left unsupervised), Blaine’s seasonal decorating and/or re-decorating sprees (when the floor and the coffee table and his piano-desk and the couch and the counter were ‘just not enough room’) and Al’s school projects (which they both liked to help out with when she’d let them).

“Hey B, have you seen my lam—Woah, where are you going?” Sebastian emerged from the study and caught sight of Alizée reaching for the doorknob.

“Jeannie’s. I already told Blaine about that, and now I really, _really_ have to go because I’m going to be late, ok? Ok. Bye!” She fired casually and in bright, quick succession without waiting for a response. The only sentences she spoke this fast that Blaine had witnessed were in French. There was something entirely too hurried about her casual to be convincing, now that Blaine thought about it. With a sideways glance at Sebastian, whose eyebrows were doing that weird thing they did whenever he called people’s bullshit, Blaine could tell he was already running miles into the same conclusion.

“Woah, woah—wait. Not so fast,” Sebastian motioned for her to come back, which she did, not foregoing that long-suffering eye roll which only children of specific age had perfectly mastered. “Why exactly are you going there with a week’s worth of luggage?” Her backpack did look a bit on the plump side, and exceptionally lumpy, now that Blaine focused on it. Sebastian checked his watch. “And at this hour?”

“It’s a _sleepover_ , Dad. It’s six-thirty, it’s one block away and I’m taking the bike. I’m not a child,” Ally said like she deemed even the idea of these probing questions ridiculous and offensive. Blaine recognized disaster when he saw it coming. “And it’s homework, we’re doing a project together.”

“Really? What kind of project?” Sebastian was staging a growing interest in the topic, not bothering to hide the sarcastic tone, and if Blaine knew either of them at all, Alizée would take it and twist it into something slicing and hurtful before she even knew if she actually wanted to cut her opponent. For now, she just huffed.

“Just—a project—look, I’ll tell you all about it when I get back, can I please just go?” She looked at him sweetly and Blaine thought he might have anticipated wrong. Sebastian’s mood seemed to thaw.

“Ok, sure,” he said, and her face brightened. “Let me just check in with Jeannie’s mom. . .” he pulled out his phone and Al’s face fell.

“No need for that!” she said. “I already gave her your number and everything, so she can call you when I get there.”

“Huh,” Sebastian was back to suspicious. “I’d really prefer to call her.”

“No, don’t—” Alizée seemed to panic for a second, but then continued in quick succession. “Actually, you don’t have to call her because Jeannie’s mom is out of town at the moment, but it’s totally fine because she knows all about it and calls every couple of hours to check in on her, so.”

“Well, who else is going to be there?”

“Just the two of us, and Jeannie’s older sister, so it’s not like we’re going to be all alone or anything,” Alizée practically breathed out. Jeannie’s older sister. Wasn’t that the girl who was sent to juvie for possessing illegal substances and breaking into a couple of neighborhood houses?

“Jeannie’s _sister_?” Sebastian’s exaggerated interest was back. “The one who brought pot brownies to your birthday party when you were thirteen and took you out on a special B&E outing? That Jeannie’s sister?”

Blaine still found it hilarious when he thought about how exactly they figured out that the brownies were laced, but found it less hilarious whenever he thought how Al and her friends could have been the ones to eat them instead of Sebastian. Or how Sebastian had to fake being sick to postpone his yearly check-up at work, because he couldn’t pee in a cup.

Sebastian was rapidly losing his patience. Blaine would have already lost it too, if it didn’t mean that then there’d be no one left to voice something calm and collected. Blaine felt they were going to need it.

“I thought she moved away,” he offered, attempting to ease the tension.

“She’s only visiting,” Alizée replied.

“I don’t care if she’s only face-timing, if her mom’s not there, you’re not going,” Sebastian cut in.

“It’s just a sleepover!” Alizée yelled.

“Nothing is _just_ anything in her case!” Sebastian hissed back. Garbo lifted her head and let out a soft whine.

“ _Mon Dieu_ , _pourquoi_ do you have to be so suspicious?!” her voice went up half an octave and her hands flew towards her hair which was under the cap. She seemed to remember that and quickly removed them.

“I’ll stop when you stop acting suspiciously. Did you know about this?” he turned to Blaine. Blaine opened his mouth but Alizée beat him to an answer, which was not good, to say the least. 

“YES. I already told you—”

“I wasn’t asking you, was I?” Sebastian’s voice went up as well. “Blaine?” Blaine wondered if anyone would file a complaint if this took a turn for the French and they just began to make loud, well-crafted but unintelligible noises. Blaine steeled himself. Calm and collected, he thought.

“Not really,” he answered in a neutral, only slightly stern tone. “Al, you know you haven’t really talked to us about this,” he continued before Sebastian could unleash more indignation. She looked only a little betrayed but there was a defiant rise to her chin which reminded Blaine so much of Sebastian he could only imagine how much it reminded Sebastian of his own self, and instantly knew things were not looking too well for either of them. The dog felt it too, if her fidgeting was anything to go by.

“Oh come on, what’s the big deal? You’re acting like I’ve never been to a friend’s house before,” she accused. Wrong answer, Blaine thought.

“You _know_ that is not the issue here,” Sebastian jabbed a finger. “The issue is _that you didn’t tell us_ and that her sister is a bad influence which I don’t want you around.”

“You see, that is exactly why I didn’t tell you, because you—you’re making it into something it’s not! I’m not thirteen anymore.” Sebastian scoffed and she looked furious.

“Oh, sixteen is indeed a far cry from thirteen.”

“I’m almost seventeen!” she all but screamed, dislodging her cap with a frustrated movement of her hand.

“I don’t care if you’re twenty!” Sebastian threw back but stopped whatever he was going to say next so Blaine returned his eyes to Alizée. Whose hair, peeking out beneath the cap, was the completely wrong color.

“What—” he frowned, as she self-consciously tried to return the cap to its original place.

“I can explain,” she said, but Sebastian swiftly took the cap off, letting straight dark brown hair instead of dark blonde curls cascade down her neck. “It’s only temporary,” she assured, raising both hands in a placating gesture.

“When did you do this?” Sebastian asked, the answer already forming by the look on his face, and Blaine couldn’t think of another answer, either. She’d been blonde and wavy only this morning. “In fact, _why_ do you need to temporarily straighten and _dye_ your hair for a sleepover at a friend’s house?” Sebastian was already connecting the possible dots in that menacingly fast way which left Blaine lightheaded and excited at its best and anxious at its worst. This was definitely gravitating towards the worst. Blaine didn’t exactly suspect it, but. . .

“Open your bag.”

“ _What?_ ” she looked as if he slapped her. “What does my bag have to do with anything?”

“It’s too bulky, for one,” Sebastian observed. “So open it.”

“I have school stuff in there, and—and— _underwear_ ,” Alizée scrambled for an excuse while trying to make it sound like there wasn’t one and, as far as Blaine could see, refraining herself from protectively clutching her backpack to her chest.

“Great, so it’s nothing I haven’t seen whenever I’m doing the laundry and tidying up after you.”

“I—I have girl stuff!” indignation in her voice took on a desperate note when Sebastian motioned to get on with it. “This is a breach of privacy.” Blaine almost laughed because Sebastian had always witnessed much more ‘girl stuff’ on a daily basis, even though Blaine had infinitely more friends of the opposite sex, and several _very_ close ones. However, unlike Sebastian, Blaine had never had a sister close to his age to grow up with and, despite his army of female friends, it showed. Sebastian was not just ‘know all about girl stuff’ kind of gay, he was a ‘know all about girl stuff’ kind of _guy_.

“Nice try, now open the backpack or so help me, I will open it for you.”

“ _Bien_ ,” she snapped. And oh, if looks could kill. Blaine imagined Sebastian would not have been exactly dead, only severely slushied. With rock salt. Naked. From every angle. She unzipped the bag.

The first thing that peeked out of it was a great white block of something which Blaine recognized as Sebastian’s laminator, which he got ‘to fulfill everyday home, school and office lamination needs’, of which their household had many. Just the amount of flash-cards and paper trimming Blaine and Alizée did on a monthly basis warranted a home-based device.

“We’re doing flash cards,” Alizée hurried to explain before anyone could comment on the fact that she even managed to cram the thing into her backpack. “Jeannie and I.”

“On a Friday night. And her sister’s helping?” Sebastian asked as he pulled the device out of the bag and set it aside. He kept rummaging through the bag pulling stuff out and carefully piling it on the couch. “Interesting.”

“What’s wrong with studying on a Friday night?” she asked and it sounded like a challenge to go ahead and count the reasons. “What are you even doing?”

“I’m looking for evidence,” Sebastian replied, still pulling stuff out. Besides the enormous laminator, everything he had pulled out so far was pretty standard stuff. Some notes, couple of pencils, a toothbrush, a fresh set of socks and underwear… But then, there was also glue, a pair of scissors and synthetic paper. “Didn’t you mention Jeannie got a high quality camera for her birthday last week?”

Blaine remembered Al’s friend dabbled in photography, but couldn’t see where Sebastian was going with that. Judging by the way Alizée’s face changed color, she apparently could. “What has t-that have to do with anything?” Sebastian ignored the question as he finally pulled out a smaller bag from the bottom of the backpack and held it up like some kind of rare specimen of teenage treachery. Its unfortunate transparency showed it was predominantly filled with make-up, and also—

“Well, at least you’re being safe,” Sebastian observed in a clinical manner which indicated there were more pressing matters at hand. “What I really want to know, though, is why would you need a bag filled with make-up and a temporary hair-do for a sleepover which you said yourself is supposed to be a _study_ session, and not a _makeover_ session?”

She looked prepared to somehow fabricate it into both and Blaine could see how it made things worse. Because Sebastian saw himself in her. And knew exactly what he’d been like at her age. That was when Blaine finally connected those dots.

“Sebastian,” he tried a tone not too placating, lest he rekindle the already dangerous flame.

“No,” Sebastian cut him off. “Do you have anything to say for yourself that is not a fabrication?”

“I’m taking the bike to Jeannie’s,” she said, raising an eyebrow, and Sebastian’s nostrils flared as he took a forcefully deep breath.

“You _were_ taking the bike to Jeannie’s,” he corrected. When she just continued to stare at him, he continued firing questions, pacing back and forth on a small trajectory. Blaine thought them quite rhetorical and the pacing would be funny if the situation didn’t have layers upon layers of gravity. “Do you know how old you are? Are you aware that you’re a minor? _That both of you are minors?_ ” He stopped to look at her with sharp eyes. “Do you think I _don’t know_ what a fake ID looks like?”

Her eyes were just as sharp.

“Oh, I _know_ you know!” she exclaimed spitefully, already annoyed that Sebastian had called her a liar and probably even more annoyed that they caught her before she even set foot out on her way to execute her masterful plan. “Yeah, don’t act all innocent, I know you stayed out drinking with fake IDs when you were my age. Did you know _maman_ actually kept one? I found it in her drawer the last time we went there. . . So stop pretending like it’s a big deal.” Blaine was a little shocked by the tone of this confession, but if Sebastian was stunned, it lasted for only a second.

“It is a big deal. That’s not—” he hesitated and Blaine knew what he wanted to say. Sebastian wanted to say that it was different, but it wasn’t. It was just as stupid. How she exactly became familiar with the details of his teenage conduct was beyond both of them. “It’s breaking the law, Alizée. It is a big deal.” She scoffed.

“Oh, don’t act like you’ve never—”

“Just because I have, doesn’t make it ok!” Sebastian yelled. “If my parents even _knew_ what I’d been—”

“ _Well, good thing you’re not my parents, then!_ ”

The silence was deafening. Sebastian wilted like nothing Blaine had ever seen, or maybe just once before, when he’d been drunk out of his mind sitting on the floor of the Warblers’ practice-room convinced that he and Blaine could never be friends again. Alizée must have realized what she’d done the second she was done saying it, but it was too late and she was too obstinate to admit defeat. They were unbearably similar that way. So, instead of pulling it out, she twisted the blade which she’d just sunk so deep.

“You’re not my mom, and you’re not my dad and you’re far from a saint, so you don’t get to lecture me on what I shouldn’t do!”

“Ally,” Blaine tried to make her stop, but she turned on him as well.

“And _you_ are not even my real family so you can stop acting all parental,” she snapped and Blaine flinched as if she’d thrown something blunt and heavy at his chest. This prompted Sebastian to collect himself.

“That’s enough,” he said, voice even with finality. His eyes flickered with contained emotion as he spoke his next words. “You’re right. I’m not your mother, I’m not your father, I’m not who I’d choose as someone’s parent, hell, I’m not even sure I’m the right person to babysit someone’s dog for a couple of hours. But do you know what I am? I’m the person who’s responsible for you.” He looked into her eyes and held her gaze. “You may not like it, but I’m what you’ve got. I’m all you’ve got.” She looked away first.

Even though she couldn’t read it, there was a fine print somewhere deep inside that statement, one which said that she was all he had, too. And Blaine, he’d always have Blaine. A gentle hand on his back, a confirmation of that eternal presence. Sebastian’s next breath was a lot steadier.

“You can go to your room now,” he said, and it wasn’t a request. As she was about to pass by, seething, Sebastian extended his hand. “Phone.” She looked unaffected, but Blaine bet he would confiscate the laptop as well. “And leave your laptop outside by the door.”

“And what if I have a paper to write?” she had the flippancy to ask.

“You can write it at the dining table.”

“Ugh! _Je te déteste_ _!_ ” she ran upstairs and slammed the door to her room.

Sebastian’s shoulders slumped.

“I kind of hate myself, too,” he murmured so softly Blaine almost didn’t catch it.

“Hey,” his hand found the back of Sebastian’s neck so he could rub some sense into him and some of his tension away. “None of that.”

“It’s my worst nightmare come true,” he voiced. “Her saying she actually hates me. Because I’m not—” his voice cracked a little. “Because I could never be anything close to a real parent.”

“Sebastian, you know that’s not true. Look at me.” He waited for green eyes to find his. “You _know_ that is not true. You are a real parent. She loves you. More than she loves winning. She just needs a little time to see it.” Blaine shook his head. “Come to think of it, sounds like somebody else I know.”

For a second it looked like Sebastian believed him.

“I don’t know anything, anymore. I need to clear my head,” he replied instead. He walked away and, to Blaine’s surprise, donned the first jacket he could find and unhooked Garbo’s leash. “I’m taking the dog for a walk. Garbo, come.”

He took off with the ecstatic dog and left Blaine staring at the door.

*

“ _Come in,_ ” came a muffled response from the other side of the yellow hardwood door, one she’d painted herself because she said it felt sunny. Her eyes were rainclouds at the moment, and her face a thunderstorm of emotion.

“You okay?” Blaine asked sitting down next to her on the bed. 

_No_ , she shook her head as she unsuccessfully fought a fresh onslaught of tears. “I didn’t mean—” she trailed off looking for words to squeeze around the lump in her throat, “that you’re—that you’re not— _family_.” He reached for her hands.

“Sweetie, I know you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Alizée sniffled, not quite meeting his eyes.

“It’s ok. Apology accepted,” Blaine said. She looked miserable. “Can I hug you?” he felt he had to ask, but she flung herself at him so forcefully that he knew they were truly ok. She seemed reluctant to let him go, so Blaine scooted to sit against the headboard and let her settle beside him, her head against his shoulder, arms around his waist and legs across his lap like the overgrown spider monkey she secretly was. They sat still for a few moments. “Let it never be said one is too big for a cuddle,” Blaine remarked playfully.

“It does feel kinda cramped now that you had to mention it,” she replied, voice thick from crying. “But you offered, so just grin and bear it.” She held on a little tighter.

“Kinda like when Garbo insists that she’s a lapdog and tries to sit on my lap. I always wondered who she got it from,” Blaine mused. He kissed the top of her head.

“Is dad. . .?”

“He took the dog for a walk, if you can believe it.”

“He what?” she craned her neck to look at Blaine in disbelief.

“I know. Literally asked for it, in fact,” Blaine said. “I think you broke him.”

The look of panic on her face had him backpedaling.

“I’m joking!”

“I know what I said. I didn’t mean it like that. But I know how he—What he—” she looked close to tears again. But Blaine liked to think he knew Sebastian a little bit longer and a little bit better than that.

“Just go and talk to him when he gets back.” She looked as if Blaine suggested she go and shave her head. He smiled. “It’s going to be ok, Al. He might understand better than you think.”

*

When Sebastian returned, his mid was a lot calmer.

He knew he should heed Blaine’s words and not take teenage spite too seriously, but the fact that his girl had started out with no father and then also had to grow up without a mother weighed on Sebastian like a ton of bricks. And every time he thought he was building something stable, he picked a wrong one and everything seemed to come tumbling back down. He felt like Sisyphus, if Sisyphus were a teenager’s parent.

He pottered around the kitchen wondering if Blaine had gone to bed to give him space. Unlike himself, Blaine was good at giving people space when they needed it. Sebastian was more into-people’s-space kind of guy. He wondered if he should check on her upstairs as he waited for his coffee to be done. It was late, but he doubted he’d be getting any sleep, anyway. Blaine would scold him. Or maybe not, considering coffee was his go-to drink. Better than cognac, in any case.

Too distracted to pay attention, he didn’t hear anyone come in, until there was a hand in his hand and he turned his head to see his daughter ( _your_ _niece_ , his vicious mind supplied) standing mutely by his side.

“Hi,” he whispered, briefly squeezing her hand with his own. And that was all it took for her to break into a jumble of francophone gibberish and for him to tug her against his chest, where they became a muffled and mixed with an occasional sniffle.

It felt weird to kiss the top of her head, which was dark brown and not golden like he was used to.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” was the first completely coherent thing she uttered after a while. “I’m sorry.” She looked like the world was ending, and he couldn’t be that cruel. He smiled.

“Fortunately, I know very well what it’s like to say things you don’t really mean. You’re a kid,” he said and she made a face like that was a particular fault on her part, something she had failed to prevent from happening. “Which doesn’t excuse anything. . . _But_ ,” he added, “you’re also my kid.”

She nodded. Sebastian pulled her into a tight hug.

“ _Je t’aime, ma biche._ ”

“I love you, too.”

“You do realize you’re not going out for any foreseeable future?” he asked conversationally after they hugged in silence for a bit. She leaned back to look at him.

“Not even to a friend’s house?”

Sebastian hummed.

“Does the friend in question possess fresh fake IDs ready to use?” he asked and she cringed. “Look. I know these last months have been tough. Next time we go visit Grand-Mère, I’ll take you out somewhere in Paris. You won’t need a fake ID because I’ll be there with you. And besides,” he added as an afterthought, “you’ll be close to eighteen by then. . . They’re more flexible about that stuff over there. I’d rather people get the impression I’m your older brother, not your sugar daddy.” He shuddered and she snorted.

“Really? We can go anywhere?”

“Anywhere with respectable security. . . But yes, I’ll take you to different places if that’s what you really want.”

“Yes!”

“Fine. But I expect you to behave. No more fake IDs, no attempts to sneak out.” She nodded reverently. “No getting drunk unsupervised,” he added.

“You mean it’s ok otherwise?” she asked cheekily and Sebastian knew they were ok.

“You know what I mean. Unless you think we should gift-wrap that lovely bottle of Bordeaux and send it to Grand-Mère instead of letting it complement our dinner.”

“I guess I can’t even joke anymore, huh?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t recommend it,” was his dry reply. The mostly playful banter faded into a comfortable lull. He smiled.

“Well now, care to explain those condoms?”


End file.
